In the taxi home, Matt was glaring at her.
‘Where did you go? I was stuck on my own for over half an hour.’
Buzz, buzz, buzz: he was like a wasp in her ear. A mosquito under the net.
‘It was embarrassing, sitting there, not knowing anyone.’
Jenny wasn’t listening. She was replaying the awful moment when Kris realised that, not only was she planning to steal two tablets from him, but she was also responsible for the theft two months ago. Where were the words to explain? Locked up inside – so fucking far out of reach. She’d dropped the pills on the counter and wept but he wasn’t sympathetic, accusing her of going so low that he didn’t recognise her.
‘I felt completely abandoned!’ said Matt
Then the moment in the bathroom had got a lot worse. She’d thought that Kris hadn’t been aware that she’d just had sex with his best man in the corridor while Ralph’s wife was downstairs. How great was that, at a wedding of all places, with promises of eternal love in the air? But she was wrong. He spat out that news of that escapade was why he’d come looking for her. He’d already been primed to tear a strip off her for going so low.
Kris’s face was flushed with rage. ‘It’s my fucking special day and my best man comes up to me with a nod and a wink, thanking me for providing you as the entertainment. I know Ralph – I know what that means. How could you, Jenny? I trusted you.’
That seemed to be the cry of the evening: how could you? Yes, how could she? It had been surprisingly easy. Particularly after she’d made a grab for the pills she’d dropped and downed them in a dry throat. That had shocked Kris more than anything else she’d done: he ranting and her still going ahead with the theft right in front of him. Brazen didn’t even begin to cover it. She’d been able to retreat into a lovely floaty feeling where nothing very much mattered anymore, not even a shattered trust.
‘You’ve got a lot to answer for!’ said Matt as the taxi took Waterloo Bridge over the Thames. She imagined rapping on the glass partition for the driver to stop and then leaping over the edge into the silent black water. Mary Wollstonecraft, a feminist heroine of hers, had tried that sometime in the eighteenth century after being shafted by the men in her life, but some do-gooder had rescued her. Maybe Jenny would get lucky and die. She laughed soundlessly.
‘What were you doing?’ Matt leaned over and sniffed her. ‘Are you drunk?’
Not drunk enough.
‘And this? What’s this?’ He had moved her hair and found the plaster. ‘Jenny?’
She turned away, watching the lit buildings flicker past, imagining the lives going on inside on this disaster of a Saturday night. People loving, lying, arguing.
‘We’ll have this out when we get home,’ he said, grip tight on her wrist.
Odd how he called her bedroom ‘home’. They never went to his broom cupboard of a room in north London, always sneaking into hers like they were doing something illicit. Jenny was almost sure Bridget wouldn’t mind but so far their paths hadn’t crossed. Bridget had become very distracted recently, spending long hours sitting alone in the drawing room, working, she claimed, on her book. Jenny had done everything she could to keep Matt away from Jonah, knowing exactly how any encounter between them would go. She’d stopped sleeping with Jonah when she started seeing Matt – she did have some standards; she wasn’t a slut even though Ralph said she was.
Was she?
You’ve just had sex in a stairwell for money. Do you care to reconsider?
Matt was now worrying about the taxi metre. ‘It’s already on eighteen quid. Do you have any cash? Of course you don’t. You’re always coming to me for handouts.’
Jenny dragged the forty pounds out of her bodice and slapped it on his palm.
‘Where did you get this?’
She returned to looking out the window.
‘You should never have let Kris put us in a taxi. I said we’d go by train.’
That had been when Kris had marched her downstairs and collected Matt from the reception, saying Jenny had asked to go home. While Matt fetched their coats, Kris had told Jenny that she’d have to live with the knowledge that she’d spoiled the wedding for him but he wouldn’t let her spoil it for Louis. He’d make her excuses but she had to go at once before he lost his temper with her. The final words he’d hissed, while he fixed a smile on his face for the other guests’ sake, was that he had obviously never known her properly, never wanted to see her again, or hear from her. People often lost touch with old friends once married; now would be a very good time for her to live up to that cliché. He’d expect her to find a different job while they were on honeymoon.
I need help, she’d wanted to say, but she’d stolen from a veteran, messed up his friendship with Ralph, ruined his big day: who was she to ask for anyone to care?
The taxi pulled up outside Gallant House. Matt handed over the exact money, not even rounding up to include a tip. Jenny could hear the driver cursing as he pulled away. She shivered. It was sleeting. Bridget had put up holly and some twinkling white lights but only in one window. The house had swallowed Christmas cheer like a python and was still digesting.
‘Inside,’ said Matt.
There was a light on in the snug. That probably meant Jonah was home. Once she could’ve gone in there and wept on his shoulder and he would’ve hugged her without asking awkward questions. She felt a deep longing for such easy, unearned comfort.
‘Upstairs,’ hissed Matt.
Taking her high heels off, she followed him meekly up the steps. Once in her room, she dropped the shoes in the wardrobe. Matt didn’t like mess.
‘I want to see what you’re hiding.’ He pointed at the plaster.
Maybe this was her way out of this relationship? Maybe he would be so disgusted with her that he would dump her? That would risk her drug supply, but there were other men, weren’t there? A business card still pricked her breasts. She walked into the bathroom so she could see what she was doing. Wetting the band-aid, she slowly peeled it off. Matt stood behind her. At first, he didn’t seem to know what he was looking at.
‘Is that … is that a bite mark?’
She nodded.
His face flushed scarlet and Jenny felt scared for the first time with him. ‘You little bitch! After all I’ve done for you!’ Breathing hard, he pulled her over to the bed and pushed her down on her back. ‘Who was it, Jenny?’ His hands ringed her upper arms. Alarm flared, hot and searing.
She couldn’t answer – not that it would’ve helped.
He dropped on top of her, driving the breath from her lungs. ‘You … you … you …! But I love you!’ He couldn’t find a curse strong enough. For a second time that night, a man was between her legs. On this occasion, she wanted to scream, push him away, but couldn’t. His mouth was on her neck, biting down with every thrust. Heart labouring, breath shallow, she could feel herself blacking out. Oh God, this time she’d die – she just knew it. The panic would kill her. But then he lifted his weight up to unzip and shove aside their clothing, allowing her lungs a full gasp of air. ‘I love you, Jenny. Don’t you get that? Why do you treat me like I don’t matter?’ He didn’t care or notice her panic. Jenny thrashed but couldn’t get free. He heaved and sobbed, telling her how much he loved her, how much he hated her hurting him. Then he lay spent on her chest, head nestled between her breasts. She could feel his tears. Her neck stung. He’d added his bruising bite to the mark Ralph had made, trying to overwrite the touch of another man.
Her skin had turned chill by the time he separated from her. He stumbled into the bathroom, not looking back. She could hear a bath running. After five minutes, he came out.
‘You need a bath. Come on.’ He held out a hand, acting as if he hadn’t just … just what? Raped her? It fell in some confused place between agreement and refusal. He’d taken her silence for consent. Maybe it would be easier to pretend, like he was, that it hadn’t happened? Jenny stood up, her skirt falling back to her knees. Shaking, she reached up to take off her fine gold chain necklace and, whilst she put that away in her jewellery box, she slid the business card inside.
‘Jenny? I’m not angry anymore. I know you can’t help being how you are.’ Matt was smiling now in a sad way, like a kindly priest who had caught a nun in flagrante. ‘I noticed you were a little bruised. Let’s soak the pain away.’
Numb to the core, she took his hand and went into the bathroom.